ENEMY'S COUNTRY.
He presently came to the wooden bridge and crossed it. He was now on
the outskirts of the town, and in enemy's country. So, more from
etiquette than precaution, he took the shelter of a wall, glided
through a plantation, among the withy roots of which his foot
presently caught in a brass "grin," or rabbit's snare. Hugh John
grubbed it up gratefully and pocketed it. He had no objections
whatever to spoiling the Egyptians.
He was now in butcher Donnan's pastures, where many fore-doomed sheep,
in all the bliss of ignorance, waited their turns to be made into
mutton. Very anxiously Hugh John scrutinised each one. He wandered
round and round till he had made certain that Donald was not there.
At the foot of the pasture were certain black-pitched wooden sheds set
in a square, with a little yard like a church pew in the midst.
Somewhere here, he knew, slept Donnan's slaughterman, and it was
possible that in this place Donald might be held in captivity.
Now it was an accomplishment of our hero's that he could bleat like
any kind of sheep--except perhaps an old tup, for which his voice was
as yet too shrill. In happy, idle days he had elaborated a code of
signals with Donald, and was well accustomed to communicating with him
from his bedroom window. So now he crouched in the dusk of the hedge,
and said "Maa-aaa!" in a tone of reproach.
Instantly a little answering bleat came from the black sheds, a sound
which made Hugh's heart beat faster. Still he could not be quite sure.
He therefore bleated again more pleadingly, and again there came back
the answer, choked and feeble indeed, but quite obviously the voice of
his own dear Donald. Hugh John cast prudence to the winds. He raced
round and climbed the bars into the enclosure, calling loudly,
"Donald! Donald!"
But hardly had his feet touched the ground when a couple of dogs flew
at him from the corner of the yard, and he had scarcely time to get on
the top of a stone wall before they were clamouring and yelping
beneath him. Hugh John crouched on his "hunkers" (as he called the
posture in which one sits on a wall when hostile dogs are leaping
below), and seizing a large coping-stone he dropped it as heavily as
he could on the head of the nearer and more dangerous. A howl most
lamentable immediately followed. Then a man's voice cried, "Down,
Towser! What's the matter, Grip? Sic' them! Good dogs!"
It was the voice of the slaughterman, roused from his slumbers, and in
fear of tramps or other midnight marauders upon his master's premises.
Hugh ran on all fours along the wall to the nearest point of the
woods, dropped over, and with a leaping, anxious heart sped in the
direction of home. He crossed the bridge in safety, but as he ran
across the island he could hear the dogs upon the trail and the
encouraging shouts of his pursuer. The black looming castle fell
swiftly behind him. Now he was at the stepping-stones, over which he
seemed to float rather than leap, so completely had fear added to his
usual strength wings of swiftness.
But at the farther side the dogs were close upon him. He was obliged
to climb a certain low tree, where he had often sat dangling his legs
and swinging in the branches while he allowed Prissy to read to him.
The dogs were soon underneath, and he could see them leaping upward
with snapping white teeth which gleamed unpleasantly through the
darkness. But their furious barking was promptly answered. Hugh John
could hear a heavy tread approaching among the dense foliage of the
trees. A dark form suddenly appeared in the glade and poised something
at its shoulder.--Flash! There came a deafening report, the thresh of
leaden drops, a howl of pain from the dogs, and both of them took
their way back towards the town with not a few bird shot in their
flanks.
Hugh John's heart stood still as the dark figure advanced. He feared
it might prove to be his father. Instead it was Tom Cannon, and the
brave scout on the tree heaved a sigh of relief.
"Who's up there?" cried the under-keeper gruffly; "come down this
moment and show yourself, you dirty poacher, or by Heaven I'll shoot
you sitting!"
"All right, Tom, I'm coming as fast as I can," said Hugh John,
beginning to clamber down.
"Heavens and earth, Master Hugh--what be you doing here? Whatever will
master say?"
"He won't say anything, for he won't know, Tom Cannon." said Hugh John
confidently.
"Oh yes, he will," said the keeper. "I won't have you bringing a pack
of dogs into my covers at twelve of the clock--blow me if I will!"
"Well, you won't tell my father, anyway!" said Hugh John calmly,
dusting himself as well as he could.
"And why not?" asked the keeper indignantly.
"'Cause if you do, I'll tell where I saw you kissing Jane Housemaid an
hour ago!"
Now this was at once a guess and an exaggeration. Hugh John had not
seen all this, but he felt rather than knew that the permitted arm
about Jane Housemaid's waist could have no other culmination. Also he
had a vague sense that this was the most irritating thing he could say
in the circumstances.
At any rate Tom Cannon fairly gasped with astonishment. A
double-jointed word slipped between his teeth, which sounded like
"Hang that boy!" At last his seething thoughts found utterance.
"You young imp of Satan--it ain't true, anyway."
"All right, you can tell my father that!" said Hugh John coolly,
feeling the strength of his position.
Tom Cannon was not much frightened for himself, but he did not wish to
get Jane Housemaid into any trouble, for, as he well knew, that young
woman had omitted to ask for leave of absence. So he only said, "All
right, it's none of my business if you wander over every acre, and
break your neck off every tree on the blame estate. But you'd better
be getting home before master comes out and catches you himself! Then
you'd eat strap, my lad!"
So having remade the peace, Tom escorted Hugh John back to the dog
kennel with great good nature, and even gave him a leg up to the roof
above the palace of Caesar.
Hugh John paused as he put one foot into the bedroom, heavy and yet
homelike with the night smell of a sleeping house. Toady Lion had
fallen out of bed and lay, still with his blanket wrapped round him
like a martial cloak, half under his cot and half on the floor. But
this he did every other night. Prissy was breathing quietly in the
next room. All was safe.
Hugh John called softly down, "Tom, Tom!"
"What now?" returned the keeper, who had been spying along the top
windows to distinguish a certain one dear to his heart.
"I say, Tom--I'll tell Jane Housemaid to-morrow that you're a proper
brick."
"Thank'ee, sir!" said Tom, saluting gravely and turning off across the
lawn towards the "bothy," where among the pine woods he kept his
owl-haunted bachelor quarters.